Peripeteia
by alwayswritewithcoffee
Summary: "Kate," the use of her first name has the detective's eyes popping open, another shuddering breath released from its hold in her throat, "I don't want to wait anymore," he whispers, delighted at the soft curl of her smile, the light blush that paints a pink glow against her skin. [47 seconds AU. Castle asks Beckett on a date after talking to Martha.]
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: What initially was meant to be a small one shot turned into a 10,000+ word monster. This work is completely written, and has been previously posted on my tumblr, but will left here for posterity and ease of reading in one place. If you have read this work there, I hope you enjoy it as much the second time around. If this is your first time reading it, I hope you find something inspiring within the words. Credit for this idea goes to castleramblings on Tumblr._

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_47 Seconds AU: What if Castle had finished his thought at the precinct and asked Beckett on a date._

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The ache is his chest will not let up, not since the bombing, not since visions and dreams have again begun to crowd his mind. Kate bleeding on the grass, Kate broken on the asphalt, felled by another gunshot, a bomb, a knife. He thinks that maybe he has PTSD, that his life will be spent dreaming all the ways in which she can die, all the ways that her brilliant light can be snuffed out before he again gathers the courage to tell her the deepest, and maybe not the best kept, secret of his heart.

She doesn't remember that he loves her and the ache grows tenfold as the barista hands him two cups of coffee, the warmth seeping through the insulated plastic of their travel mugs and into his skin. He doesn't remember if he managed a strained smile for the young woman, can barely recall pressing the tip for her service into her hand, or the short walk from the coffee shop to the precinct.

What he does remember is the way his gut clenches, the breath leaving him in a lightning quick release when he glimpses Kate. She's whole and radiant at her desk, crease between her eyebrows as she studies the paper in her hands. Her chestnut and mocha curls tumble over her shoulders, the lighter strands highlighted by the grey-purple of her top and the morning sun that streams from the windows. She's captivating, beautiful in both physical appearance and inner strength.

As he steps from the elevator, Rick feels his resolve slip into place, confidence and assurance straightening his spine, quickening his step to her desk.

If she doesn't remember, he will tell her a thousand times so that she can't be mistaken because life is precious. He's seen her die, had his own life almost taken on far too many an occasion. If shadowing her, doing this job, have taught him anything, it's that many a person find themselves never reaching the goals they set. So many of them never go on that vacation or get around to losing that fifteen pounds. Life is unpredictable and he's going to make the most of it.

"Hey," Rick calls softly, hating the reserved tone of his voice, how timid and scared it seems. Still, Kate's eyes lift to his immediately, warm and pleased, the smile already curving at her mouth before he's even began to sit.

"Hey, thanks," she replies, her eyes flicking from him to the coffee he holds, following its path to the surface of her desk as he takes a seat in his chair, makes himself comfortable.

Her assurance that she has a second to talk, the complete openness in her eyes to invite him to share whatever is clearly on his mind helps loosen the knot that's tightened in his gut. The niggling doubts that have whispered in his ear since that afternoon in the hospital where she told him she'd never heard his confession momentarily grow silent, replaced by a more urgent voice that insists he tell her. It is that which voice sounds suspiciously like his mother, demanding in its repetitive nature, but somehow promising him everything he's ever wanted and a few things that he'd never openly dreamed of.

"Um, I've been thinking," Rick hedges on the words, his writer's brain scrambling a dozen directions in search of the best form to present his feelings, heart thumping against his throat as those forest green eyes search him from head to toe, "about the victims and all the opportunities they'll never have."

The second pause is infinitesimal, smaller than the space it takes to draw a breath, but he can already see the expectation, the fear, and the want that shade Kate's eyes. They're darker, shining vividly in the pale landscape of her face. It's a fetching portrait with her mouth parted and breathing quicker, the way her body sits coiled at the edge of her chair just waiting for him to say what has been resting deep inside for months, possibly even years.

So Rick leaps, lips parting and eyes shining with nerves, "And I don't want that to happen, I've been…" the tiny smile that curves at her mouth, the shift from concern to pure joy in her eyes threatens to stop his heart. He's determined to plow on with the rest of his sentence, to unleash the ten or so words that are half-formed in his brain out into the air for Kate to hear, to absorb, to agree with.

Instead they dissolve, consonants and vowels lost in the far reaches of his mouth at the snap of her last name from Ryan. There's an urgency to it, one that she can't ignore but it still takes a moment to tear her eyes from him, to focus on the fact they are in the precinct. They have a case to work, there is evidence to sort and clues to find.

And an apology. There's a clear apology in her gaze before she moves to look at Ryan, eyes flickering immediately back to him, "Uh…?"

"We've got something," the detective announces, halfway turned to return from wherever he came before Kate can reply that they'll be there in a minute. But the moment has passed, the tension and urgency, the spark between both of them replaced by the bustle of the bullpen, the case, all the things they need to get on with.

"It's okay," Rick says, a resigned smile on his face before he sees the way her body droops a little. He makes note of her disappointment, the slump of her shoulders, the dip of her chin and the downcast eyes that Kate attempts to hide with the excuse of gathering her black folder and a pen. The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as she stands, still shifting papers, organizing herself for whatever is to come with Ryan's find. As usual, she closes herself off behind work to downplay the emotions, retreating to stand behind the wall that he now knows she so desperately wants to tear down.

That thought is enough to make the decision for him, and Rick shifts to his feet before she can walk away, two broad fingers snagging against the cuff of her shirt. The other three fingers enclose her wrist, brushing the soft skin with just enough pressure that her breath hitches in her throat, eyes fluttering closed. In that action lies a reminder of the afternoon they spent cuffed to one another, the way in which the slightest shift or touch would draw their bodies together to create the best and, somehow, worst time he's spent in her company.

"Kate," the use of her first name has the detective's eyes popping open, another shuddering breath released from its hold in her throat. It makes him want to draw her closer, to lightly kiss the patch of skin between her eyebrows, her cheekbones, her mouth, "I don't want to wait anymore," he whispers, delighted at the soft curl of her smile, the light blush that paints a pink glow against her skin.

There's a brief linking of their fingers that he barely feels, too lost in the dancing merriment in her eyes, the even row of teeth that press into her bottom lip as she fights putting her joy on display for everyone in the division.

"Tonight, at eight. We'll make time," she promises, those same slender fingers tripping along his wrist, making him shiver at the touch and the idea that, finally, this magnificent woman is willing to take a leap, to risk her carefully protected heart for him.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I firmly believe that if you follow/favorite, you should also tell me why. Reviews are awesome, they encourage both writers and for others to read stories. Even if you just say you enjoyed it, or you hated it, its something I (and every other writer) want to hear. Don't be shy._

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Eight o clock passes without much more than a glance at his watch and a half-hearted sigh at the towering stack of files that still stand in front of him. Rick can't think of a person in the precinct who wouldn't be stunned to learn that Captain Gates had entrusted him with any task, never mind one that could prove crucial to the case. It's for that very reason that he simply can't push it away and embark on something he's been waiting, literally, years for.

If that isn't a mark of his determination and work ethic when it comes to honoring a victim, and putting wrongs to right, he can't imagine what is. And, really, he's seen hide nor hair of Kate since Andrew Haynes was hauled off to investigation.

He tries to be rational about it, to correspond the shy excitement and the secret smiles of the day to the intervening hours where there's been no shining beacon of a female homicide detective. It's just him and a pile of text that is both important and almost mind-numbing with its tediousness.

His head is still turned to the task, neck stiff and aching, muscles tight with fatigue and strain when the elevator door opens. There's nothing but the shock of his dark hair, the slope of a forehead and a well-defined bicep encased in a navy blue shirt offered from the sliding door view, Castle's large frame bent over the cast-off precinct desk that has been wedged in an alcove for longer than Kate's even been alive.

The bullpen is quiet, a rare lull between shift changes, a dinner break for those still needed. With the newness of this thing they are embarking on, she's never considered what her co-workers would say or do, and that leaves her thankful that its so quiet, itching to urge her date out the door.

"Castle," she keeps her voice soft, the smile filtering through when one slender hand reaches out to cover the file he is pouring over, the action enough to give Castle pause, have his blue eyes lifting to meet her green with all of their surprise and wonder that she's here, "You gonna stand me up for paperwork?"

Kate's teasing is almost painfully shortlived, the chair groaning across the hardwood floor when the writer bounces to his feet, stuttering his apology. His hands follow the disjointed sounds, fluttering wildly through the air, eyes telegraphing how upset he is that she's managed to get the jump on him, make it seem as if he doesn't care about the date.

It's absolutely the opposite - he cares immensely, possibly even too much.

"It's okay, Rick," her voice is soft again, though the K sounds like a thunder clap, lightning bolts fizzling through his guts, goosebumps sliding across his skin at the pop of the the final letter, the quiet roll of the R. He loves the sound of his given name from her mouth, delights in the adrenaline rush and press of intimacy that it gives.

"It's okay," Kate repeats, that shy, effervescent smile lurking on the edges of her lips. He wants to lean forward and kiss her, to taste what that cautious joy feels like, but she's running her fingers against the back of his hand, talking of running late with witness interviews and having no time to change. Apologies that aren't needed because she's stunning even after a twelve-hour work day in wrinkled trousers and a stain from a hastily eaten lunch at the hem of her shirt.

"I don't care, Kate," Castle breathes the words quietly, seizing her small hand with his own, closing the distance between their bodies with one half-step, "You look wonderful."

And there's so much sincerity in his voice, so much emotion shining in his eyes that Kate can't help but believe it. It fills her up, makes her brave enough to hold his hand on the short stroll to the elevator, to wedge herself against him on the ride to the street level and ignore the saucy look the Desk Sergeant throws when they exit to the bustle of the city with their fingers still kissing.


	3. Chapter 3

He's jubilant, the grin that has been flirting at the corners of Rick's mouth finally breaking through when the precinct releases its grip on them. Inside those walls its so easy to forget about the good in the world, the happiness that can be found in spite of the horrible things that humans are capable of doing to one another. Generally, Beckett serves as a shining beacon of hope, her absolute faith in finding the killer, of giving some measure of peace for the loved ones of a victim - its his daily reminder, a dose of goodness in a city of evil doers. She keeps him buoyant, leads him in such subtle ways that he only now has begun to realize.

But this is different, this bubbling and soaring happiness. It fills him up, draws a light chuckle as he carefully leads his partner to the left, away from work, darkness, and death.

Rick can feel her eyes scoping him out, the way her fingers curl against the sensitive skin of his palm. She's full of questions, emotions brimming precariously close to the rim, a breath away from tumbling over the side and, potentially, out of her mouth. He spends the whole length of a SoHo block waiting for it, surprisingly delighted when Kate traps the need for answers, silently placing her trust that he will do right by her - by them.

And he does, a soft tug to tuck her close to his side as they wait with other pedestrians for the walk signal, pointing out things that are utterly meaningless but still catch his interest on their short walk. It's nothing life changing, just a cluttered collection of observations that his writer's mind stores in bright, detailed capsules that he might one day pop open and insert into the fictional worlds he so carefully creates.

Kate revels in the stories, laughs openly with her head tilted towards the hazy glow of the night sky at the hastily crafted anecdote of a group of college girls clearly dressed for a visit to a club in their tottering heels and miniskirts. It's the sort of interaction that loosens the clench of her gut, eases the tension she carries in her shoulders after a long day at work. As always, Castle's words are her salvation, driving away the cobwebs and the shadows to bring forward a world of magic and possibilities.

It's not the first time he's done it for her, but with her hand caught between his the familiar becomes dizzying with a freshly minted newborn status, sending her heartbeat into overdrive and her breath on a steady stuttering track as it escapes her mouth.

The sensation doesn't ease any when they reach their destination, a tiny slip of a door wedged between a pawn shop and a boutique for infants with a small sign hanging above it. The sign is simple script which reads Fourteen-Forty - a mark of the trendy Manhattan staple of naming something after its physical address when all other options are taken or unsavory. It makes her want to laugh at the absurdness, and Kate barely resists spinning on her stick thin stiletto heel to launch a series of rapid fire questions. She's burning with curiosity, overcome with emotion at the idea that somehow, someway, they've finally made it to a point where they walk hand in hand down the street for a date that she agreed to with a flash of contentment and eagerness that she certainly hasn't felt since the shooting ripped into her life and blew it apart.

That dark and ominous cloud emerges swiftly from the shadows, pushing against the glimmering sweep of happiness, threatening once again to dissolve every millimeter of progress Kate has managed both in exhaustive sessions with her therapist and on her own time. The war continues as they trek up a flight of stairs, one ear tuned to Castle's chatter about how he found the place, made friends with the owner, and has been desperate to share it with her.

Somehow she smiles for him, genuine in her love of his foraging for details and the nuance he employs in telling a story, absolute in how her body is like a live wire and completely tuned to the man beside her with his sparkling blue eyes and ready smile. Being overwhelmed by Richard Castle is not a sensation that is unfamiliar or unwelcome, and neither is being clearly adored by him, but both of those things competing in tandem with the devil on her shoulder who whispers a reminder that she has spent almost a year lying to someone she loves - it's far more than Kate can handle, leaving her feeling as if she is scraping desperately to the edge of some cliff, hoping that someone will take a risk and save her from herself.

"The front of the building used to be a bank, and they actually live it in. Anita cooks from her personal kitchen, and the dinner parties are always great. She's having one next week…." there's a sucking sound that is stopped by the abrupt press of Rick's lips against one another, a move followed by the anxious bite of his lip and the cut of his eyes towards Kate. "Sorry, got ahead of myself," he admits quietly, the blush staining his cheeks pink even once she ducks her head in deferment to what Kate interprets as a need for space, "We should probably get through tonight."

There's a valid point to that, she knows, but the icy clench at the possibility of failure in whatever this is they are attempting to begin almost has her flinching where she stands. As it is, her eyes grow wide, mouth painted into a line when the stairs finally end at a large pair of steel and glass doors, hand crafted and worn in their century of standing sentinel inside the cavern of a building.

"Castle…." the second syllable of his name gets lost to a bell sounding somewhere beyond the doors, a wry quirk of his grin enough to pull out a matching one from Kate. But Castle's full attention moves to her, eyes soft and expectant, ready for whatever she is about to share with him. There's also the slightest pressure from where his thumb is tracking a circle over the back of her hand, the continual touch doing completely unthinkable things to her self control - rattling it enough that her voice cracks on her second attempt at his last name before it can ever leave her mouth.

She's caught again in swallowing her words, waiting out the war that her head and heart have been waging for far longer than a year. Whatever Castle inspires in her, it makes Kate want to promise him the moon and the stars, to whisper secrets and kiss him until they are both breathless with it. But her lie swirls around her, poisoning the air with its toxicity, turning the hope and ebullience she had been floating on into something sour and venomous. It swells up as the moment ticks on, shame and embarrassment of her continual denial adding to the mix, all of it insistent that she admit the truth, lay herself bare at the feet of the man who has done nothing but love her unconditionally as she fought and hid from the depth of her own feelings.

It completely guts her - the realization of just how horrible it has become, what her own fear and reluctance has created. Kate swallows against the regret, clears her throat in preparation to obtain absolution when the door pops open and she gets her first glimpse of the now famous Anita, a petite woman with a pixie cut of brown hair and kind chocolate eyes who greets Kate with a huge smile and quick hug.

The current of the woman's enthusiasm, the gentle grin and guiding hands of Castle when they step over the threshold, all of it sweeps her along, knocking her breathless even as her personal demon rides atop her shoulder with a promise of disaster.


	4. Chapter 4

"You must be Kate!" Anita's voice is like honey, a slow-drawl to it that reminds Rick of lazy afternoons and, inexplicably, football games. The woman is a whirlwind, her small stature doing nothing to dissuade a larger than life personality or the need to express her excitement with physical gestures much like the wide hug that she bestows upon a very surprised Kate Beckett.

It's quite an amusing picture that paints itself in front of him, with Beckett towering over their hostess in her four inch heels and therefore having nearly a full foot of height. Still, Kate figures out some way to adjust, bending at the knees to return the hug of a total stranger, confusion swimming in her eyes and a tight smile gracing her mouth.

Even so, she's still beautiful and Rick's grin is genuine when he releases the steady grip on her hand to also give their chef a hug and to ask about her husband and four children in turn. He misses Kate immediately, a small ache taking up residence in his gut that makes him want to snatch her hand back. With such limited contact between them, its absurd how unfamiliar it feels to be without the comforting weight and warmth her fingers clasped by his own.

It makes him wonder what it might be like if he ever has more of her, if his life is destined to be spent waiting for any and all physical contact from the magnificent woman whom he is leading through the doors and into a tastefully decorated room.

Fourteen-Forty is a restaurant in the loosest sense of the word, with ten tables that can configure for a maximum of forty people and provided the back end of the name for the place.

The room is all soft lighting and clean place settings, deep grey tablecloths topped with bone white china and twinkling stainless steel silverware. Each of the tables boasts a small centerpiece with a variation of blooms, arranged in differing configurations that all somehow appeal to both a masculine and feminine sensibility. From his previous dining experience, Rick knows that the menu is equally on par, fusions of Anita's New Orleans upbringing and her husband's Greek influence that mingles spectacularly with years of travel and falling in love with food in all four corners of the world.

Their hands draw back together like magnets, the chocolate brown of Kate's soft curls tipping forward to hide the shy grin that spreads across her face in the small distance that they follow Anita to the table that already holds a bottle of wine and two full glasses. The reluctant grin becomes a full smile when she catches the sight of their waiting table, fingers carefully squeezing at his own in a silent acknowledgment that sends his full heart into a skidding series of thumps, pushing a ghost of a breath out of his mouth when they approach the space meant for only two.

A considerable amount of effort is involved in retrieving Kate's chair from its place under the table with only one hand, but his task proves useful at the wide smile, the teasing flicker of her eyes that display how pleased she truly is that he wishes to be so close to her. Silence and subtext, actions replacing the words that they are both far too scared to say, a partnership built on quiet moments and undeniable chemistry. That tangible element, the very thing that presses against his ribs and keeps Rick slightly off kilter surges forward again as Kate takes her seat, his hands sweeping up to rest across her shoulders, twirling across the curled ends of her hair in a move that has her drawing in a soft, satisfied sigh.

That small sound, the encouragement that it infuses him with is enough to give him the courage to lean forward and give the lightest brush of his lips to the delicate curve of her cheekbone, to linger a fraction longer than he should.

When Rick pulls back, he finds his heart is wholly unprepared for the reaction of his detective. Kate doesn't make a sound, barely even moves, but he's arrested by the softness in her eyes, the emotional depth turning her green eyes darker, stopping his heart for the second time in as many minutes with the complete openness with which she regards him.

If he ever doubted her feelings, how much she cared for him, he finds it completely impossible to remain in question now. And as such, he has to physically restrain himself from leaning forward to capture her mouth with his own and display his own generous feelings.

"Kate," it costs all the air he has to whisper her name, Rick's head bending forward just enough that his forehead brushes against her temple, edges of caramel hair tickling at his cheek. He can smell that familiar hint of cherries, a more subtle infusion of vanilla and coffee that absolutely makes him weak at the knees. And then there's the added gentle press of her lips to his skin, the soft rustle of his hair when she lets go of a shaky breath.

"Not here, Castle," Kate says, voice full of an emotion that he can't name, probably because its a tangled web that has to be on par with the myriad that churn in his gut. It's love and lust, fear and hope, want and desperation. "Soon, but not here," she whispers, lips scraping against his skin with every spoken consonant, warm, slender fingers splayed wide across his jawline. Her thumb rests across the fullness of his lower lip, in a gentle sweep of touch in the same beat that tears seem to clutter the forest green of her eyes.

The questions die on his lips, tipping forward to claim the space between their bodies. It's the the gentlest brush of mouths, but it strikes like a lit match deep in his gut for the four heartbeats that Rick sustains the contact. There is enough of a caress in their kiss to release a quiet groan from Kate, and shaky sighs from each of them when he rises to his feet, fascinated with the deep pink blush painted along her cheeks.


	5. Chapter 5

He retreats before she's managed to get a handle on her emotions, frozen with a combination of lust and shock that have her skin burning red. If a brief kiss can spark such a deep seeded need, Kate can't imagine what would become of any deeper connection, and she resolutely tamps down on any memories of their one previous encounter in a desolate alleyway under incredibly false pretenses.

She doesn't want another kiss given and taken under secrets and lies. She wants it to be real, to experience the honest and unreserved depth of Castle's emotion, to be able to return that sentiment tenfold for all the times he has stood by her, for all the months in which he has waited silently for her to be ready, to begin this thing with him properly.

Her eyes lift from the navy and grey card stock that provides a succinct read of the meal Anita has created for them, with the only decision laying in choices for wine and dessert. Somehow the lack of her need to choose relaxes Kate, allows her to settle beyond the guilt and force herself to be present in the moment - an area with which she's worked long and hard to acknowledge and achieve in sessions with her therapist - as Castle grasps the back of the chair that sits opposite her own, hauling it around to touch the chestnut stained wood floor next to her.

And the smile she receives as he takes his seat, the confident snag of her hand in his and the subsequent trip her limb takes to end up pressed against his lips stops her heart for the span of a breath. Even once the muscle jerks back to life, its with a rising fondness for the kind, generous spirit of the man across from her, gratefulness for all the things he's so quietly guided her through with the belief and trust that he places in her.

Somehow Richard Castle has become a very solid foundation, worth far more than words and a work partnership. The fact she loves him, has loved him for a very long time, is no longer a secret to her. She's admitted as much in therapy without saying the actual words, determined that those three syllables will only be released into the air when she's fully committed to speak them and embark on all they entail. Still, with that knowledge, it terrifies her at the depth of emotion she carries for him, the absolution with which he can alter her world with a look or a touch.

Kate has never loved someone like she loves him, never found the connection and spark that could hope to match what she has built with Castle. And even now she can't pinpoint when it happened, when she willingly tumbled over the precipice of that steep and looming cliff, began her tumble into the unknown with only the hope that he would be there to catch her at the end of the fall.

The ability to describe it to him, to place words to her love and fear, allude her. Kate wishes she had inherited just a percent of his talent, some smidgen of ability to express herself in the eloquent way that he deserves, but she's left with only actions. The soft caress of her fingers against his, a simple smile and the sparkling hope that she knows has to be burning bright in her green eyes.

Their hands are still intertwined, resting casually against his thigh when Anita and her husband emerge from the kitchen with plates heaped with food, the tiny woman looking even smaller next to the man who is an easy rival for Castle in height. Though they appear well suited as a couple, smiling and joking in their approach, it still brings a quiet laugh from Kate, forces her to subdue it by resting her forehead along the curve of Castle's bicep, lips touching the fabric of the navy blazer that he favors on most days in the precinct.

By the time the plates are placed in front of them, she's regained control of herself, attention turned towards Anita's husband who introduces himself as Klaus. He proves to have a personality to match both his stature and wife's effortless charm. She can't quite pinpoint what it is, has no measure with which to determine why she's so drawn to two strangers, but Kate takes to both of them immediately, slightly regretful that the couple can't pull up two chairs and share in the food that she can't imagine two people could possibly eat alone.

"Would the two of you like to join us?" Rick poses the question with a genuine friendliness, the sort of smile that crinkles at the corner of his eyes, a twinkle in them that has seen thousands of women try to hook him for their own, to capture some of that rugged charm.

"Rick, really," Anita's delicate features turn up in amusement, eyes flickering between he and Kate as she sums up the situation, "I don't think Kate wants this guy and I imposing on your date," she says with a gentle nudge to her husbands side, the action gaining the quirk of Klaus' lips but no vocal move to agree or disagree, "You two just enjoy yourselves, and we'll be back out with the rest of your meal."

He wants to protest, far too eager to please the woman at his side who has taken to his friends with a quickness that he so rarely sees from Beckett, but Rick watches them both retreat, giving a helpless shrug to his clearly amused companion.

And then, with a wink, he turns to the meal before him, eating with only his right hand in relative silence until Kate questions him about life with Alexis and his mother, drawing him into the grand tale of his mother's latest escapade with her acting students and the improvisation course that both took over his living room and sparked a potential scene in the next Nikki book.


	6. Chapter 6

Their walk from the restaurant to her block is fifteen minutes of bliss entrenched in the seductive and rich aroma of coffee floating from under the lids of two travel cups. Kate knows from her careful observation of how both drinks were made that Castle's is only accompanied with a dash of creamer, while her own has the works. As usual, he'd insisted on making it for her, expertly handling the espresso machine with a confident quirk of a smile, adding the sweet kick that she so treasures and etching a quick K to the foam.

The smile that had stretched her cheeks at the surprise, the joy of such a simple gesture, is still bouncing around, filling her with a confidence that she needs for the approaching conversation. That initial infuses her heart with courage, whispering a reassurance that Richard Castle is a kind man, a man who loves her and will, somehow, find it in his heart to forgive her for such a selfish action.

They navigate the final distance slowly, sneaking sips of coffee between the click-clack of shoes against the sidewalk, snatches of meaningless conversation following in their wake as the city continues its endless ebb and flow. On this block alone there are hundreds of people involved in their own personal success and drama, falling in love and existing in anger. It's one of the beautiful facets of the city, but also one of the saddest because, no matter what you could try, you'd still only see a glance of someone else's life, though that small peek is more than enough for a writer's imagination.

Like now, Rick is sure he could write a dozen books about the variation in Kate's smiles on this night alone. Even after four years as her shadow, something like fifteen hundred days of observing, he's still surprised and fascinated by her.

The sight of her apartment building hovering in the distance brings out a sigh before he has a hope to trap it. The exhale is loud enough to catch her notice, to pull a reluctant and shy smile out of her as they approach the front entrance, "You can come up…." she says, the words so quiet that Rick almost misses them above the jingling of her keys and the traffic noise in the street behind them.

Though the lighting is dim, the blush of color that splashes against the slope of her cheekbones is unmistakable, as is the way Kate tilts her head. Her hair is possibly the best defense against any embarrassment she ever experiences, the tumbling waterfall of curls spilling over to hide the way her teeth are undoubtedly working at her lower lip, nose wrinkled just at its slightly pointed end in a way that is unspeakably adorable.

But Rick isn't deterred by hair, least of all the silky layers of Beckett's, so he takes a calculated risk in drawing the curtain of honey-mocha strands behind her ear, lowering his head so she can't miss the curl of his breath against its delicate shell or the playful tone of his noncommittal reply, "Only if you are sure."

"I want you to come up," Kate clarifies, confidence dripping from every syllable, a teasing grin to her mouth when she turns her head. The gap between them has evaporated before he has a hope of getting a handle on it, the warm cavern of her mouth meeting his in another teasing brush that has them both sighing.

There's a moment of suspension, a careful snatch of breath where it all hangs in the air though there really is no decision to be made. If forced to choose, Kate couldn't even be sure that she could pinpoint the moment where she decided that she wanted this, wanted him. For so long its simply been her reality, an all encompassing desire to make herself ready for what Castle offers, to be worthy of everything he wants to give.

She still isn't sure that she is worthy, that she is completely ready, but the undeniable truth underneath her doubts and fears remain the same - she loves him, and she's so tired of waiting to be perfect. After all, he's seen the very worst of her, and somehow stayed by her side while only asking that she maybe find it in herself to return his feelings.

And she's so very tired of keeping those from him. So desperate for even the smallest taste of what it might be like to be completely and undeniably Castle's that Kate just takes a leap, her body orienting to the larger frame of her partner, eyes flicking to meet his before their lips crash together.

Like the striking of a match, she starts to burn the moment he touches her, tasting of chocolate and coffee. And its so much more than their first kiss, overwhelming her with the knowledge that this time there is no imminent danger, no boyfriend, nothing but the sheer emotion that lies between them. Lost in the slide of his tongue against hers, the way his hands clutch at her with an urgency of need but maintain a gentle hold, Kate can only hold on and soak in how every gesture is a silent affirmation, a steady and calm whisper of 'I love you, Kate'.

The sob slips out unnoticed, buried under the mix of a honking car horn that speeds past her building. The unexpected broadcast is enough to pull them apart, lips swollen and chests heaving, slow, satisfied grins barely given time to find their marks. Now that she's had a part of him, experience a sliver of his unreserved passion, the idea of further resistance seems not only impossible, but absurd.

So Kate doesn't fight it, fingers splaying over the sharp angle of his jaw to draw him in, gentle and soft in her approach, more quiet promises for a moment where she won't hold back, "Castle…." the regret is clear, spoken on a whisper that weaves across his lips, "We have to talk, there are some things that…."

The shrill sound of a phone cuts her words off, the noise originating from the depths of his suit jacket. In four years, Alexis' ringtone has never changed, still a loop of an eager and bright teenager's call of "Dad, Dad, Dad!". Kate can't recall a time where he hasn't immediately taken a call from his daughter, and she relaxes against the wall, gesturing that he should hop to it.

Castle mouths his apology, eyes dark and yet luminous when he lifts the phone to his ear, "Alexis, hi," he speaks into the handheld device, free arm looping along Kate's waist, trapping her small body against the breadth of his chest with enough casualness that she is helpless in stopping her silly, besotted grin.

But she can hear the tones of the young woman at the other end, the rapid speech and strained vowels, the pauses that indicate either tears, panic, or a heaping measure of both. Whatever Alexis is calling about, it isn't good news, an assessment which only grows at the cloudy worry that shades Castle's eyes, or the slight tightening of his hold on the phone, and her waist in turn.

"Okay, pumpkin, you just have to calm down. Go splash some water on your face, and I'll be home in five minutes, just hold on, I'm on my way," his voice is gentle and assuring, a definite calm in what she suspects is a raging inferno from a teenage who undoubtedly saw more of life than she perhaps should have in her job with the morgue. It's not a surprise that Alexis' emotions have finally caught up to her, that she needs the comfort of her dad to settle her worries and make the world seem like a less scary place.

Kate can hardly blame her because, sometimes, she needs that reassurance too.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Dialogue for this chapter belongs to the writers of the episode, not to me._

* * *

His walk from the coffee shop to the precinct is done with a level of happiness that is directly at odds with the emotional roller coaster of the overnight hours and the heaviness of the witness statements that weigh down the messenger bag slung across his shoulders.

Rick won't soon erase the memory of Alexis' tear-stained face or the fiery halo of hair that had escaped her usual choice of neat as a pin ponytails. His baby girl had clung to him in a way that he hadn't seen since she was six and scared of the monsters under her bed or, more recently, her first big heartbreak, crying genuine tears of anguish and disbelief at a world where such vile things could happen to anyone, least of all people fighting for something they believed in.

Kind hearted and headstrong, intelligent and fierce, he had spent the better part of the night reassuring Alexis while fighting against the awe of just how incredible of a kid the world saw fit to give him. Her magnificence is nothing new, as her father he makes sure to bask in it every single day, but like the other women in his life, she has the ability to steal his breath and stop his heart.

And yet, boundless depths of enthrallment aside, there's a sour taste in his mouth, a bitterness in his soul that an eighteen year old now has such a horrific life experience to call upon. The urge to merely lock Alexis in her room, protect her from the greater evils of the world is one that he knows he will never shake, and rather than dwell, Rick pushes it all to the side. Instead he revels in the happy, optimistic daughter with whom this morning he had shared chocolate chip pancakes and sent off for a day of relaxation and fun with her friends rather than facing the emotional upheaval of the ongoing investigation.

Thoughts of the investigation lead him back to Kate, and overloads his sense memory. Like their undercover mission a year ago, their kiss from last night is seared into his brain. It's impossible that he can still taste her on his lips, that the intoxicating blend of cherries and coffee lingers across his skin, but he doesn't even need to close his eyes to find himself back in that moment, drinking her in and allowing the joy of finally experiencing what he has so routinely imagined to fill him up, accompany him like a loyal companion on his stroll down the block with their ritual morning brew.

* * *

The early morning hours are spent in a hazy mix of elation and guilt, both emotions waging a war that leaves Kate feeling off balance and a little ill. It's hard to focus on much of anything, her hands spending most of the minutes hovering over the dark screen of her phone, desperate to text Castle some small note, a series of letters that will let him know that she's eager to see him, wants to go out with him again, needs to confess a multitude of sins because, now, she can no longer bear to keep the secret.

It's all juvenile in nature, giving her a delightfully tinged reminder of junior high and 'check yes or no' notes passed in the back row of classrooms. But she isn't ashamed of it, can't possibly find it within herself to regret that ebullient and luminous feeling of sheer happiness. Yet Kate doesn't text, holds herself back from phone calls, but whiles away the hours staring at the murder board and his chair on turn, silently urging the elevator doors to part and give her a glimpse of the man who so effortlessly stole her heart.

Her silent pining finds its end with a break in the case, their biggest lead after Andrew Haynes alibi held finally earning a name and an address to go with a face. Locking her emotions down is something that Kate can do with an ease that startles her after hours picking away at her emotional walls with Doctor Burke, but her personal life slips behind the mask of Detective Beckett and the hard steel shell that has held her up on many a day.

By the time Esposito and Ryan haul their newest suspect into the box, she has a full file of information on Robert Lopez from his educational record to credit history, Facebook friends, and family members. He's nothing more than a kid, a scared kid at that, but Beckett has seen it all over the years and even the most unlikely suspect can turn out to be the guilty party.

She works him like anyone else, dangling carrots of information, stringing a line on which the guy can hang himself if he so chooses. But he doesn't choose, maintains an innocence that is so genuine that it grates at her nerves. She's all to aware that they again could have the wrong guy, that her day might be spent chase another dead end lead with a kid who is either a good enough actor to repeatedly maintain innocence in the face of damning evidence or genuinely a bystander.

But working him is part of the job, and even if Bobby didn't make the bomb, didn't trigger the detonation, he was still in Boylan Plaza and, therefore, a valuable asset for what he might have seen.

* * *

"Witnesses saw you drop your backpack, Bobby!" Kate's voice is full of heat, the worlds rippling into the air with a growl that indicates her frustration as the kid stutters out what Rick expects is one of many denials that he isn't guilty, that he didn't do what she says.

But it's something to draw from, and Beckett skirts his adamant statement with practiced ease, stalking around the table with long strides, "So you admit to having it?"

"No, that's not what I meant!" Bobby counters with that same plaintive tone, confusion etched on his face and the defeated slump of his shoulders as she sits at the edge of the table, fingers splayed across the crime scene photos, body towering over him in an effort to further intimidate and ensnare.

"Did you or didn't you have it? It's a simple question…." she says, words leaving no real room for further argument, and Rick tenses from his spot against the one-way window, body ready and waiting for the answer as the tension curls in thick waves through the air.

"I don't know." Its neither of the acceptable answers to the question, and though he can't see Beckett's face from here, he reads the sloping curve of her spine, the sharp angle of her shoulders. She's reached the end of a short tether, tired of cat and mouse games with a kid who shows no sign of breaking.

The rest of the exchange is rapid fire, questions flowing one after another to give Bobby no time to think, no time to lie, though his answer remains the same. He doesn't remember, he was in shock, he doesn't know what happened.

"Everyone was running and screaming…"

"Okay, okay, so you remember what happened after the bomb went off, but not before…" that same grit and determination laces her voice, a tinge of disbelief cutting into the two syllables of her last word, and Rick has to suppress the urge to smile. It's ridiculous to be so proud of her for merely doing her job, but he can't help himself, she's fearless in this room, a warrior out on the most noble of quests, and a little part of him is humbled each time he's allowed to watch.

"It must have been one of those traumatic amnesia things," Bobby says, and, in an instant the tension escalates, pressing against the walls, making it difficult to draw air though Rick is at a loss as to why.

* * *

The phrase traumatic amnesia hits her with the force of a thousand bricks, thoroughly snapping any patience or goodwill that Robert Lopez might have earned. He's absolutely lying to her, and while the continued act is impressive, she will not, cannot, let the kid get away with it.

Laying it out there in black and white, maintaining a simple request for the truth is her last ditch effort. Kate can feel the muscles of her arms and torso tightening with frustration and anger, her jaw already aching with the strain of added pressure, eyes dark with suppressed emotions when the kid denies it all, yet again, blames the trauma of the experience.

"It was not the trauma, you don't get to use that excuse," she says, jabbing one finger in his direction, ignoring the hitch of her voice that is less angry homicide detective and more terrified little girl.

"I don't remember!" Bobby is adamant, so adamant that Kate grips onto the edge of the table until her knuckles turn white, eyes hard and cold as she glares at him.

"The hell you don't remember, you want to know trauma?" she phrases it as a question, though entirely hypothetical, encroaching even further on his personal space as the anger takes a complete hold of her, forces that vein in her forehead to extend into high definition as she spits out the secret that has been eating at her for nearly a year, "I was shot in the chest and I remember every second of it."

Bobby's look is stunned, horrified, and a little sympathetic, all things which she can't bear to look at. Not from a kid who forced her to release her greatest secret, so she moves, tossing out a reminder that she knows he is lying over her shoulder. Kate's retreat isn't far, just to the wall, but she finds that she needs to space to think, to breath, to stop the shaking of her hands under the guise that her suspect needs the time to absorb the weight of the words.

Hell, maybe they both do.

* * *

The shock rips through him like a tsunami. Violent, thrashing waves knocking breath from lungs, rocking him back with the force of it. Rick is unspeakably wounded, the hurt flaring from the deepest reaches of his heart, and followed quickly by a fresh surge of anger. It doesn't matter that she went to dinner with him, that they shared a spectacular kiss goodnight, because the knowledge of the lie runs deep, brings back lingering issues of Kate's self-imposed three month absence.

Forgiveness is a difficult thing, usually done over time and with many tiny resolutions. In life he has rarely completely forgiven for a deep, smarting hurt in one swift move, finding that other issues come back to nag at him months or even years later. Emotional wall or not, he hasn't fully let that one go, and now, in light of this news, he understands why.

If Kate lied to him about that, what about the rest of it? Like turning on a faucet, the doubts begin to flow freely, poisoning his mind and seeping into his blood, making the glorious pedestal with which he regards her disintegrate into nothing. She isn't a goddess, she isn't magnificent, she is broken and horrible and selfish, but, even so, he doesn't hate her. Wounded and hurting, his stupid, reckless heart is still ridiculously in love with her.

But it doesn't stop him from a hasty retreat, attracting the notice of half the bullpen as he stumbles into LT just outside the break room door. Rick doesn't even know what he stammers out to Esposito when his friend questions him about where he is running off too. He just knows that he can't breathe, can't think, not until he's gotten a good three blocks between himself, the precinct, and Kate Beckett.


	8. Chapter 8

If an inanimate object could taunt, the travel mug Castle left at her desk that morning had done a hell of a job. The brown liquid had been cold and sticky sweet by the time Kate had finished her interrogation, prompting a rather mournful ritual of dumping the drink into the sink drain and rinsing out the cup.

Esposito had been assuring with the assumption that he had simply left to take care of something, that he'd be back, and she'd accepted it without question. Castle had more going on in his life than solving their case, maybe he'd had a publishers meeting, or Alexis needed him again. It could be a thousand things that weren't directly related to their date, to the frissons of nerves that kept leaping across her skin whenever she thought back to the feel of his hand in hers, the way he'd tasted of coffee and strawberries when she'd kissed him.

Most of the afternoon had been whiled away by desperately trying to think about anything but kissing him again - preferably as soon as possible - but Kate had ultimately failed, caving to send three quick texts, which hopefully served as a hint that she'd like to see him again, to inform Castle that he was missing some pivotal developments in their case.

They had all gone unanswered, her call had flipped over to voicemail when she'd dialed him on the way to break the journalist responsible. The steady, gnawing pity of worry continued to bloom all through booking the bomber, filling out the paperwork, and listening to Gates profuse thanks and insistence for everyone to go home.

"Hey, Castle," her voice is soft, full of worry, when Kate steps out of the precinct, her second call of the day again unanswered. It's all she can do not to hang up and tear across town to his loft, to bang on the door until someone opens up and gives her some answers, "I hadn't heard from you today, and I just….well, we closed the case."

The laugh that follows those words is utterly humorless, a heavy, hollow sound that radiates deep in her body. She's so tired, so desperate to see him, to have some grasp of delight that Castle so easily brings into a room, "That journalist who caught the bombing live on camera, she had the detonator in her hand, set it to blow just as they went to air. She wanted to make anchor, and covering the story was the quickest route," Kate continues, that route, emotionless tinge to her words that speaks of the long, emotionally fraught day she hopes to put behind her with kind blue eyes and an easy smile.

She leaves out the other, finer details of the case, partially because the recording will cut itself off soon, and mostly because she's clinging to a shred of hope that he'll call her, beg and plead for all the critical information that he missed.

But she can't deny the slight chill in her bones at this new radio silence, how strange it feels after a night where she felt as close to him as she has in some months. The sensation rattles around in her body, the icy tendrils of fear tripping against her lungs until it hurts to breathe, and her breath shakes when she releases a low sigh, "Castle, look….I don't know what is going on, or what kept you away today, but I'd like to see you later. So call me? Please? I….I missed you today."

Her admission is barely above a whisper, her slight hesitation at voicing the words in no way enough to deny the truth of them as she end the call. The willowy lines of her body sink against the brick facade of the building as the phone drops into her pocket, the precinct temporarily holding Kate up until she can dig deep enough to find the strength to take herself home.

* * *

The small, tentative tones coming from Beckett aren't adjectives that Rick generally associates with her. Her quiet admission, the soft sigh, it all slices neatly through his lingering frustration as he listens to the voicemail, guilt and regret turning heavy in his gut. Whatever fears he has, whatever reservations that now exist between them, the idea of leaving her to spend a fitful night is one that he cannot abide because, in the blame game, Kate isn't the only one who carries secrets.

By the time he knocks on her door Rick has resolved himself to a plan. For better or for worse, they have to talk through it all, attempt for some common ground where there are no secrets, nothing left to poison their partnership or any potential for more. He has two failed marriages that speak of what secrets and unchecked grievances can do to people, and no intention of ever having a third one go along the same well worn path.

There is a softness about Kate when the door opens, undoubtedly born from the bare feet and an oversized shirt that is nearly translucent in patches over her body in a mark of well loved and often washed comfort. Absurdly, he makes a mental note that for her birthday he should buy her a year long service that picks up and drops off your laundry, freshly folded and ironed, an effort to ease the strain of finding the time to do it herself with a busy work schedule. It's also the hair, slightly rumpled and haphazard, and a pair of shorts that are painfully distracting in the way that they show off her toned legs and just enough of the curve of her ass that he gets caught staring on their retreat into Kate's apartment.

"You gonna tell me why you disappeared today?" she asks, fingers twisting into the soft material of her shirt, jaw tight with tension that thankfully doesn't carry into her eyes. Rick can tell from the distance that has pointedly been placed between them that she's worked up, spent her time home from work obsessing over the silence that he's sent her way. Undoubtedly, her brilliant detective mind has been running rampant with theories and only the barest of clues.

"I…yeah…." Rick's reply is stuttered, his own brain still whirling the combination of her shorts and the complete newness of Kate like this. She's so tiny standing in her bare feet, frame so lost in the oversized shirt that she looks far younger than her thirties.

It makes him want to wrap her up in blankets and pretend to watch some mindless movie in a veiled excuse to kiss her against the blue flash of a tv screen, for hands to wander until she's giggling at him to stop, hissing about how they are missing all the best parts in a movie that, really, neither of them have an interest of watching. Ultimately, he clears his throat, crosses the space that separate them to slowly snag at the bow of her waist, cautiously lower his mouth to hers in a move that immediately draws a groan from Kate.

That simmering attraction and chemistry is still thick between them, sparking hot and bright from each point where they connect. It doesn't matter all that much that the kiss is filled with reluctance from Rick, that she's kissing him as if it might well be the last time they initiate such contact. Somehow it still burns.

Somehow it's still the best thing he's ever had.

"I left today because I needed time to think, to figure out what I wanted to say to you…." Rick begins talking the moment they separate, urging Kate to take a seat on the sofa. The idea of trying to explain himself while sitting still is one that he knows he cannot do, so he remains on his feet, cautious pacing along the aged wooden floorboards.

To do this, to be able to think, he has to move, to channel his energy in some productive, active way that keeps emotion under control when the words come up short.

And there are several seconds where he has no words for her, moments where time ticks away and its only Kate's expectant stare and his jittery nerves working up the courage to lay all of it out into the open.

In the end, he goes with the simple route, speaking the barest of truths, "I heard you in interrogation. I know you heard me the day you were shot."

The words are like ice water, crashing around Kate in waves of pulsating cold. The snap of it dilutes her senses, leaves nothing but a slight buzzing in her ears while her brain skids directly into panic and her heart cracks in protest. It's painfully fitting that it ends like this, that her selfishness and constant need to protect herself from a broken heart will be her downfall.

Hot, thick tears are already clogging her throat, working their way between the crevices of her closed eyes, the grimace tight and bitter on her mouth.

"I'm so sorry, Castle," Kate chokes on the words, forcing her eyes to open because if he's going to wash his hands with her, he deserves to see the truth of it, "So sorry."

In a life full of questionable choices, this is her worst. The words of apology, and explanation, the desperate urge to ask him to forgive her - they are all pressing against her tongue, eager for release but she bites them back, the weight of them more powerful than tears. In a list of regrets, the thing right below her mother's murder that she would change in her life if given the opportunity.

"Why did you lie to me? If you didn't, or don't," the touch of his fingers across her knee is a shock of electricity, heat radiating between their skin as Castle kneels in front of her. She can see the darker blue flecks in his eyes, the purse of his lips and the heavy weight within those grey-blue depths an undeniable look into how deeply she's hurt him, "…..I just wanted the truth, Kate. I wanted to know where I stood and if I pushed myself on you, made you feel that you ever had to pretend or…."

"Oh, no," it's remarkable how quickly she bypasses her own turbulent thrash of emotions to soothe him, how the word no morphs into a steady, confident chant with each repetition, " I've never spent a single moment with you where I felt unwanted," Kate admits, the words dripping with both an honesty and raw emotion that she usually keeps carefully locked away, far too scared to put the most tender and scarred pieces of herself on display for another pair of eyes, "That's why I lied."

The word 'lie' comes on a crack of her voice, signaling that rush of regret and guilt with the force of a tidal wave, "I wasn't ready. I didn't know how to handle it, how to tell you that I wasn't ready without losing you for good and I….I wanted what I could get, no matter how small of a piece it was." Excuses for the weak, the broken, for people who let the best opportunities in life slip by.

He doesn't understand. For the space of several heartbeats, Rick flounders at her words, treading water until it all can be pieced together, "All you had to do was tell me," he croaks, emotion making his voice heavy and leaden, pure gravel and despondency, "The truth would have hurt far less than a lie, Kate."

He says it because its true, because above all of the anger and the fear that had filled his day, he never quite grasped why she chose an infinitely more complicated and destructive route. Above it all, that hurts the most because with her lie Kate inadvertently admitted that she didn't believe that strongly in their connection, if his confession, if years of working and fighting beside her lead her to believe that simply not being ready for what he felt would drive him away.

Not being ready for it and never wanting it at all were two completely different animals. And in the darkest depths of his heart, Rick really isn't sure that he would have so easily conceded with the idea of never, if only because the idea of letting her go is impossible. Maybe in a different life, in a different circumstance where he hadn't seen the sparkle in her eyes, tasted the happiness on her mouth as he kissed her. Maybe without those clues, but it would seem he will never have to live through that pain because, after that experience, walking away is unfathomable.

"I know," she whispers the words, the syllables forming like broken glass, slicing him open as her eyes fall closed. The tears that have been hanging in her eyes, glimmering against the vivid green and flecks of brown, finally breaking free to leaving tear tracks against the pale expanse of her skin.

"I've spent months trying to think up how to justify it, but I can't. I was scared, and I needed time to figure myself out, to be ready for it," Kate's breath releases on a shaky exhale, hands jittery as they slide over his forearms, long fingers curling against the bony ridge of his elbow. It doesn't escape his notice that she's holding him in place, clinging to him in the most unobtrusive way that she can in their current positions, "That's why I spend so much time in therapy, there are things that I've buried for so long, things that extend beyond the shooting. The shooting just….it turned a black and white world into technicolor, made me rethink and reshape some priorities in life. You are one of those, Castle."

"I'm a priority?" Rick can't help the pleased curve of his mouth, the lilt of surprise and excitement that colors his voice. The idea that she's working to better herself, that it is in part for the possibility of _something_ with him is a further balm that soothes the sting of the lie.

The laugh that bubbles out seems to surprise Kate as her eyebrows lift, but he feels her tension dissipate slightly, the soft skin under his hands relaxing, "You are, yeah," she answers, "I meant what I said that day on the swings, about the wall coming down. Did you really think I was doing all that work to let someone else benefit from it?"

When he leans forward, its to catch Kate's mouth with his own, tongue sweeping against her lips until she opens wide to admit entrance. Like most forms of physical contact with her, this kiss burns red hot, turning his world inside out at the warm cavern of her mouth, the distinct flavor of red wine and spices. She's the most wonderful thing in the world, an addiction that has settled into every cell of his body, every nerve ending and blood vessel. The best kind of fix that he could hope to find in the world.

"It doesn't matter, Kate," Rick mutters the words while their lips are still pressed together, each of them punctuated by another soft peck. It's almost hard to think with her this close, those clever fingers twisting and lightly pulling at his hair, "I forgive you."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Be a few days until Chapter 10 as I'm going out of town and I'm not taking my laptop. Hang tight! And thanks for all the reviews and the follows/favorites. I couldn't believe it this morning when I saw over 200 of you are following this story. That's amazing! _

* * *

Those three words radiate against her lips, the vibrations filtering through her body with the powerful rush of relief. She's sobbing before she's ever got a handle on it, the slender line of her nose pressing against the soft skin of his neck, hot tears dripping onto the bright blue fabric of his shirt. It's not the most comfortable position with Castle still kneeling on the floor in front of her, but Kate ignores the slight protest of her muscles at the awkward angle, unwilling to let him go so easily and wholly unable to get some control on her emotions.

"Thank you, Castle…" the words slip from her mouth unbidden, curling into the air with a soft, shaky sigh, even as her mouth pushes against his. Kate pours all of it into their kiss, desperate in the clutch of her fingers against his shirt, the slide of her tongue against his own. She's drowning in emotions and yet finally breathing the sweetest air of her life, drawn in without the vice of secrets and guilt keeping walls erected around her heart.

He can't get enough of her. The feel of her mouth against his, the smooth silk of her skin, the little mewling noises that escape when his fingers slide across the sensitive skin at the bend of her knee. It's all new information, things that overload a mind that is already pushed to an extreme at merely having Kate in his arms, never mind the intoxicating drug that is her mouth and the promises that he can read in her eyes.

She hasn't said it, but she doesn't need too. The one word he's hoped to hear and feel from her for nearly a year is painted on every inch of her face, radiant and breathtaking. And God, he loves her. He loves her with a passion and a depth that presses against the roof of his mouth, begging to be unleashed for her to hear in a circumstance not surrounded by blood and death.

Instead, he kisses her again, drowning the urge to speak in action. Tongue and teeth, hands marking a blazing path across her thighs, skirting just under the hem of her shirt with a boldness that surprises Rick, though that is nothing compared to the long curl of Kate's leg against his hip or the implication that he should come closer.

She feels the shift in his body, the press of his mouth into the strands of her hair, her temple. It's comforting and wonderful, a sweet gesture that further draws her against Castle. Her own mouth seeks out a taste of his skin even as she breathes in the musky, sharp scent of his cologne. It's strong enough that it makes her a little weak at the knees, the masculine scent and the hard curve of the bicep under her hands beating a steady hum of arousal into her blood.

And for the first time, Kate doesn't try to tamp it down. She doesn't have to bite back the satisfied sigh or resist the way her fingers pull at the cotton of his shirt. Now she's free to indulge, teeth scraping at the patch of skin under Castle's ear, a delighted smile breaking free at the sharp pull of breath and the jerk of his body in response,.

"You okay there, Castle?" she can't help teasing him, or laughing at his helpless groan.

"Definitely not," he sighs against her ear, breath whispering against the shell to draw a path of goosebumps against her skin and a shiver of expectation along her spine. "God, you are just…." the rest of the words get lost, painted over Kate's skin in the caress of his fingers across the top of her thighs. Then there is the teasing dip along the bend of her knee, the added sensation of lips and teeth gently nipping and marking her neck until she's breathless, all but writhing against the cushions of the couch when he finally moves from his crouch on the floor.

It's easy to forget how large Castle is with the gentleness that he carries in day to day life, but there's an undeniable swoop of adrenaline that shoots into her blood when one knee falls to rest at the seam of the cushions. The realization is one that makes her heart stutter in its regular pattern, and jump back to life with a slight jolt at the darker blue flecks that Kate can see in his eyes. Their usual bright blue are cloudy with want and promise in the brief space before mouths join together again in a rush of breath, hungry and searching in the press of her fingers against his arms, the cradle of Castle's hands against her jaw.

The minutes that follow are nothing short of sensory overload. Roaming hands, seeking mouths that give and take in tandem. Kate quickly learns the intimate valleys and plains of his ribcage, brushing against the smooth skin with a tentative touch that earns her both a squirm and a quick bite of his teeth against her lower lip.

Everything he has ever wanted exists in this moment, and the smaller, baser part of him demands to ignore all the rest. That tiny, devilish voice that promises another day, another hour won't make a difference. Kate lied to him for nearly a year, what would one more day matter for harboring his own virulent secrets? She's curling one of those lithe legs over his hip, lips and teeth nibbling at the thrashing pulse point at his neck, leaving his breath nothing but a stuttering, halting notion when Rick finally summons the courage to pull away.

The heaviness in his eyes is different, a sober aura sucking out their brief respite of joy like a leech. With the shoe placed firmly on his foot, he understands some of the agony and anxiety that Kate had gone through, his heart singing a song of regret at not merely meeting the problem head first and resolving any questions she might have had.

"Kate," her name is a whisper, the noise muffled by their mouths sliding together for another brief burst of contact. He can taste the tentative grin on her lips, how they move so easily against his own and offer a world of potential and happiness. But Rick knows better than to continue down this road because in a myriad of things that make the woman he loves wonderful, there is also a selection of things that make her formidable. An angry angel seeking vengeance, a woman who doesn't want to be protected or coddled even if his decision had been made with her believed best interests at heart.

"We have to talk," Rick manages to get the words out in a rush, capturing her lips for one last touch, gentle and apologetic for the words he's about to say. No matter how he tries, escaping the idea that he's likely about to break her carefully pieced together heart is something he cannot do, "It's important."

For the space of three heartbeats, Kate finds herself waiting for the punchline. He's so somber, serious in a way that she's so rarely seen in their years together. The soberness on his face is temporary, soon replaced by an anguish that sends a shot of fear slicing through her body. It's that little whisper in the corner of her mind that none too kindly requests that she retreat, fold her bruised and battered heart back into it's little steel-lined box so that it is protected from further injury. That same voice is the one that so often convinced her to run, keeps nearly everyone in her life at arms length. The voice is her own, a little higher, a lot more naive in the ideal that happiness wasn't a necessary factor in life and the morsels of advice are a crutch that she fights not to lean on.

"Castle…" the call of his name is gentle, but the anxiety can't be masked. Already she's coiled like a spring against him, fingers that were once clutching at him to pull him closer now splayed wide open in preparation to push him away. She knows the face he's regarding her with, can decipher a litany of horrible, unthinkable things in the apology lurking in his eyes and all of it makes her want to throw up, to hurl breakable objects against, or maybe just level her first into the warm chest under her hands.

"There's something I've known for a while, something I've kept from you because I thought it was in your best interest," Rick sucks down a deep, rattling breath, fortifying himself to unleash the truth at the same moment that she swallows a lump of unshed tears. In their years as partners, she's observed Castle, learned his tells and his quirks and the tinge of sadness and regret, the deep lines etched into his face are all calling cards of a day in a hospital four years ago when she thought Will had been shot. It's the hours after Montgomery was killed, every destructive, horrible fight they've ever had.

Whatever it is, Kate knows in her bones that it involves her mother and she can only hold on for the ride, pray that her unshakable faith and love for the writer in front of her will be enough to see her through it.

"I got a call one night just after you came back to work, back when we were chasing leads on the warehouse fire with the bank records. A man named Mr. Smith told me that Montgomery had entrusted some information to him before he died, things related to your mother's case…" Every word is like a knife to the heart because, from here, Rick can see it all. The wheels of that brilliant investigative mind whirring to life to begin piecing the puzzle together, the joy and light of Kate's green eyes dimming with each syllable. He weaves the story slowly, sparing no detail, exorcising the ghost of his own secret and with each new revelation, Kate withdraws further into her iron shell, the hardened mask and emotional armor of Detective Beckett slotting neatly into place.

"He made a deal with whoever killed your mother, whoever killed Montgomery and tried to kill you. Told them that he had the information needed to take them down, and they struck a deal. So long as you don't dig into the case, so long as the file stays buried, they won't come after you again, and he asked me to stop you," the sigh he releases is shaky, as much from watching Kate retreat to the far end of the couch as the emotional weight of the information. "I agreed to do it, to keep you off the case so that you wouldn't….."

"Wouldn't what?" Kate's voice is like barbed wire, filled with venom and a prickly edge that slices his already bleeding heart open, "Wouldn't try to find the son of a bitch who killed my mother? Who put out a hit on my life?" The implication in her question is clear, that putting the demon that haunts her to rest without an answer isn't an option. Even now, even after months of therapy, she's still willing to go to the extreme. It would be admirable if it that extreme didn't include her death. "You kept valuable information from me, Castle. Information that could have caught the guy who did this, and you think that's okay?"

"Do I think…." Rick snaps at her, emotion bleeding smoothly into a towering inferno of anger. He's speechless for a moment, unable to do anything but flex his fingers into fists at his side, grind his teeth together until the worst of it has subsided. "I think I was trying to keep you safe, to keep you alive. You don't think these people would keep coming until they manage to kill you? You don't think that every single person who is close to you, who have helped you in this aren't at risk? I did it because the idea of losing you…I can't stand it, Beckett. So, yeah, if it meant keeping you safe, if it meant never having to watch you bleed out in front of me? I'd do it again, and again, and again."

"You can't just cut a deal for my life, I'm not your dress up doll! You should have come to me, Castle, told me what was going on and we could have figured out something toge—" the muffled thud of her fist pounding into the cushion is lost in a sigh of frustration as she bounds up from the couch in one fluid move, fingers tugging at the disheveled curls of her hair. And she turns her back on him, shoulders tight with tension, back ramrod straight, "You can't just take over my life like it's your own personal playground. It's my life, and it was my decision."

"You and I both know you wouldn't have stopped. You aren't even stopping now! Your life, your rules? Kate, this case? It's almost killed you once already, it's taken years of your life and made you miserable."

The rest of it gets lost, absorbed into dust the moment she spins around, eyes blazing with tears and shining with hurt, "How could you do this, Castle? My mom's case, my shooting….."

The answer is undeniable, three words hovering in the air around them and just waiting to be voiced. And he knows that she knows the answer, and part of him hopes that it might be the magical cure, the one thing that could mend what he's broken. Even now, even while she's standing in front of him radiating anger and disappointment the words are no less true. He loves her and Rick can't imagine a time where he won't.

"Because I love you," he replies, gingerly getting to his feet as her lower lip trembles and one lone tear breaks its rank to slide down her cheek, "Because I love you and I don't want to watch you die. I want you to live to be one hundred and have a dozen great-grandchildren who adore you. I want you to get married, to have a pair of gorgeous, smart children and be happy. I don't want you to spend your life chasing ghosts, or fighting these battles alone, and when I agreed? It was the right thing to do because you needed protection, even from yourself."

The admission hits her like a thousand bricks, but instead of weighing Kate down with the load, she feels like she could fly. Of all the situations she might have picked, having Castle voice his feelings in the middle of a fight wouldn't be one of them, but she can't deny the truth of the words. In everything he's ever done, he's proved that he loves her and in spite of the hurt, she knows that she returns the sentiment.

Sinking against him when he approaches feels natural, the warmth of his body and the familiar lure of cologne soothing her frayed psyche in a way that words never could.

"I can't give it up," the words are barely above a whisper, released against the smooth skin that peeks out from between his shirt, "I can't just pretend my mom's killer isn't out there, Castle. And I don't…." Kate has to stop, though the sob still escapes in the silence, rattling around the room like some horrible echo that is almost enough to persuade her to lie, "I want this, I want you, but I can't do it if you are going to ask me to stop. Giving up, letting them win, it's not who I am."

"Kate," Rick loses track of the time that he spends chanting her name, lips forming the word in the spaces where they aren't tracing across her skin, capturing the salty taste of tears, "I don't want you to stop. I want you to let me in, to let me help you. No more secrets, no more risks. You and I? We can do this, but it doesn't have to be today. It doesn't have to mean your life ends in the pursuit."

"I would never ask you to be less than who you are," he adds, fingers slipping against her cheek and cupping each in his hands before she tentatively presses their mouths together.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Last chapter! Thank you for all the kind reviews, follows, and favorites. I'm amazed at the response this story has gotten. So strange what one snippet of an idea can grow into, isn't it? _

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All of it is true, Kate realizes as her mouth slants over Castle's, hands lifting to tug at the dark strands of his hair. Burke had spent months telling her that her greatest hurdle to overcome was herself, of learning not to shut her emotions off, to accept the help, the friendship and the love that the people in her life offer. And she is tired of fighting, of staring down demons and ghosts all alone.

She isn't a failure if she allows someone to fight with her. She's only a failure if she gives up the fight altogether.

"I know," Kate sighs, hair tumbling across her back in haphazard curls as his lips mark a trail against the line of her neck, "God, Castle, I know," she's crying again, tears filling her eyes and quickly overflowing onto her cheeks, leaving the bitter taste of salt in her mouth as they trickle down to her lips.

"Kate, no, shhh. Don't cry, okay?" Rick is there immediately, fingers brushing at the drops, mouth light and soft at her temple. "I hate seeing you sad."

He is truly the sweetest man she's ever met, so considerate and attentive to the emotions and needs of those around him. Sometimes, like now, it takes her breath away at just how large of a heart Castle has, how openly he puts it on display and yet how cautious he is with revealing the depth of his feelings. For their whole partnership it's been small gestures, endless cups of coffee and quiet, steadfast faith.

And she loves him for it. She desperately loves him.

"I'm not sad, Rick," she replies, tilting her head upward to meet his eyes, "I'm just overwhelmed by you." Kate can feel the grin that stretches her mouth wide at the slow dawn of comprehension in his face, and its a marvelous thing to watch the darker flecks in his eyes suddenly burn bright and begin to twinkle, the shy little boy smile curving at his lips with enough glee that she can't help but want to kiss him.

"Overwhelmed, well…." that confident bluster is back, the reserved little boy almost giving way to the ridiculous and self-assured man that Rick Castle grew up to be. It's the type of transition that she loves, the exact sort of thing that usually has her hiding a smile behind a coffee cup or her hand lest he see just how much delight she draws from the easy happiness Castle can find in the mundane elements of life.

"Don't be arrogant," Kate chides him gently, mouth sweeping against his jaw, "Just appreciate the fact you are very important to me."

The chuckle he releases is loud enough to fill the room, the vibrations rumbling into her body where they stand pressed together. Somehow his hands are mapping the bare skin of her waist, shooting shivers of want licking across her spine. "Important?" he's teasing her again when he speaks, Kate can tell it from the higher pitch of his voice, the careful track of his fingers as they draw letters and shapes over her abdomen, "I'm so much more than important, Beckett."

Her smile is indulgent, the type that she only gives him in the spaces before dropping a teasing quip at his expense or before she nips one of his insane theories lest he really go on a roll in telling the story. It's a grin that makes Rick pause, regard her with a question dancing in his eyes though he doesn't speak a word. For once, Kate has a free pass to take the lead, and the assurance that he will follow wherever she wants to go.

"You are," she agrees with a soft hum, mouth soothing and full of promise when it brushes his own, "Much more than important," Kate grins at him, knowing the truth and her quiet declaration is mapped across every line of her face before she speaks a single word, "because I love you."

For a moment, Rick thinks his knees will buckle. It's amazing how much power three words can have, and he closes his eyes against it, allows her soft spoken truth to fill him up and bask in the unbridled joy of what he's hoped for for so long. Kate loves him, and its enough. It's more than enough.

"You love me," he repeats her words almost as if they are a question, his irrational heart thumping wildly in his chest in delight even as his emotion-logged brain struggles to catch up. Kate's responding laugh, her shy and reserved smile, it all takes him higher, unleashes that part of himself that Rick has kept so carefully locked away.

"I love you, Castle," Kate replies, simple and matter of fact. No over the top words of love, no dramatic declaration, just the truth. It's her truth, a simple and wonderful thing that sends frissons of desire and exuberant joy into his veins.

For a woman who has always valued and drawn strength from his words, Rick instead chooses action. She's open and trusting when he kisses her, need already sizzling hot and heavy between them long before her tongue breaks against the barrier of his lips to begin a slick slide in the warm cavern of his mouth.

But it's like a moth to a flame, or lightning striking a tree in how quickly the hesitant, cautious kisses and touches burn into something deeper. He's already on fire from Kate's touch, skin burning wherever her hands fall, breath stuttering in helpless little gasps at the feel of her hips slowly pressing into his.

Her fingers are confident as they work at the buttons of his shirt, the cotton fabric pulling apart to reveal patches of skin that make Kate's mouth go dry. She can't help herself, doesn't try to stop from tasting the new territory, memorizing the dips and valleys of his skin, the small scar high on his right ribs. Any piece of him that she can reasonably touch with her mouth is paid equal reverence, shirt forgotten where it fames his torso in two neat halves.

Time slows down then, dissolves into nothing but the feel of skin on skin, of seeking lips and breathy sighs. Thier ability to communicate without a word, her gentle encouragement at the unvoiced question is what draws the large t-shirt over head, leaves Kate standing on shaking legs at the press of Castle's mouth over her skin, the wet slide of a tongue and sharp bite of teeth as they nip at her collarbone.

The path he takes is a direct one, mouth skimming down the valley of her chest even as hands secure themselves at her waist. In one fluid move, she's hoisted against Castle's broad chest, skin pressed against skin in a way that lights her blood on fire and further fogs her brain with a distinct haze of lust and want with her hips neatly slotted against his.

The moan slips out the second Kate's hips roll forward, the friction of their lower bodies gentle drawing together taking Rick completely by surprise. For a moment he has to abandon the exploration of her body, close his eyes and swallow the heady swell of arousal that tempts him to merely press Kate against the closest flat surface. And she laughs at him when he stutters, a trilling and beautiful sound that summons his own grin.

"I love you, Kate," he says, quiet confidence and joy coloring his voice as her hands fist against the dark strands of his hair, "I love you so much." Those words slide like a gentle breeze over her skin, his heart bursting with the truth of it, the absolute magnificence that fills him up at finally being able to tell her. Rick see the tears and exhilarating curve of a smile on her face, feel the slow increase of her heartbeat where his lips trace the raised scar tissue that represent the very worst of their time together.

But she's here, beautiful, whole and wonderfully his.

And it's enough, Rick thinks as he carries Kate over the threshold into her bedroom, carefully places her at the edge of the bed with one lingering touch of their mouths.

It's everything.


End file.
